


A Merry Little Christmas

by thegraytigress



Series: The Sexy Misadventures of Agents Romanoff and Rogers [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Christmas, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Holidays, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-08 16:21:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5504525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegraytigress/pseuds/thegraytigress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Natasha wanted was to spend the holidays quietly with Steve back in his apartment back in DC. Instead they end up on a whirlwind Christmas extravaganza in New York City. The funny thing is, though, amidst all these silly things she used to think were nonsense... She finally understands what it's all about. And she finally realizes she already has exactly what she needs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Merry Little Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> **DISCLAIMER:** _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_ and _The Avengers_ are the properties of Walt Disney Studios, Paramount Studios, and Marvel Studios. This work was created purely for enjoyment. No money was made, and no infringement was intended.
> 
>  **RATING:** M (for language, adult situations)
> 
>  **AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Happy holidays, everyone! Well, this got very long. As usual with these stories, warnings for sex :-). Sexy, fluffy, holiday goodness.

_“Happy holiday!  Happy holiday! While the merry bells keep ringing, happy holiday to you…”_

“It would be,” Natasha muttered, “if we’d done what _I_ wanted to do.”

“Oh, come on,” Steve murmured back.  “This is fun.”

She had to admit it was.  Granted, this wasn’t her normal sort of scene.  She liked Christmas well enough, but it had never held much meaning for her before she and Steve had started their relationship.  That had been more than a year ago, so this was their second holiday together (though, in all fairness, the first one she hadn’t been willing to consider what they had a real “relationship” and they’d been stuck in a labor camp in China, biding their time to make a heroic escape while freeing the other prisoners and snatching the tech they’d been sent in to retrieve).  This year they’d been invited to New York at Tony’s behest for a holiday party at Stark Tower that was sure to “knock their socks off” (Stark always used lame, dated colloquialisms when Steve was involved, and Steve always played right into his hands, hook, line, and sinker).  She’d hemmed and hawed about going.  Frankly, the pageantry and frills of Christmas, the carols and lights and traditions and symbols…  Stars and ornaments.  Bells and trees.  Snow and Santa and eight tiny reindeer pulling a massive sleigh…  None of that really appealed to her.  Part of that was because she was Russian, and in America things were certainly different (though she’d lived in the United States long enough now that this hardly factored into it anymore).  Most of it was simply because all of that, the silliness of it, the fact that this was the “season” for compassion and kindness and good cheer, the season for giving, seemed rather trite and shallow to her.  It was a crazy thing, that Black Widow had gotten to the point in her life where she thought it was a tad stupid to need a holiday to be a good person.  But here she was.

And _here_ she was, in New York City three days before Christmas, at Rockefeller Center no less.  The holidays were _everywhere_.  Dazzling lights and extravagant decorations.  Red and green.  Gold and silver.  Andy Williams was singing over the speakers positioned around the ice rink, where skaters were enjoying the early afternoon and the soft, pretty snow that was gently falling.  The Rockefeller Tree, always a sight, rose high above the rink and the streets beyond it, tens of thousands of lights twinkling and sparkling in its lush boughs.  It was a sight to behold, she had to admit that (even though she’d rather be beholding Steve in all of his glory, preferably naked, preferably with her naked on top of him, preferably with her climbing him _like a tree_ – hell, he could wear a Santa hat to make the image festive).  Even though she’d made it pretty clear that staying in DC was just fine with her, he’d wanted to take Tony up on his invitation and spend a winter weekend in New York.  He’d been so excited about the prospect (and quite a bit of it was nostalgia to be certain, hence why they were here first and foremost, standing right where he’d stood, as he said, with Bucky at his side every winter from 1933 until 1943, because that Christmas they’d both been in Europe hunting down HYDRA).  Furthermore, Steve predictably loved Christmas.  He made up for her “Scrooginess” (as Stark called it) in spades.  He wasn’t gaudy or goofy about it, but she could see from how his face lit up when he saw the tree and hear from how he hummed the old songs that had come from his era and feel from how he hugged her just a bit more tenderly all the time, like right now.  She knew why.  Christmas was Christmas.  It was one thing that he could connect from his childhood seventy years ago until now, the one time of year where traditions were sacred and sacrosanct.  The one time of year when old-fashioned was to be applauded and sought after.

There was the whole peace on earth and good will toward men thing that appealed to him, too.  And the being close with your friends and family thing (which was why they were here, after all.  The Avengers, as odd as they were, were the next best thing to that to two people who had no real family).  So despite how she’d wanted to spend a quiet Christmas in DC, away from SHIELD and work on a rare and precious vacation, away from _everyone_ in fact, snuggled up close to him in his bed and eating expensive take-out and watching old movies, preferably naked most of the holiday…  Despite that, she hadn’t even argued when he’d asked if they could go to Tony’s party.  She’d simply agreed.

Which led to where they were.  “I hate skating,” she grumbled.

“What did I just say?” he chided gently.  She looked at him and had to admit he looked _ridiculously_ good.  He wore dark jeans and a maroon sweater that did basically nothing to hide how built he was.  On top of that he had a black wool coat on, which was a different look for him since she was so accustomed to his leather jackets.   A gray scarf was secure around his neck, and he had a black hat on his head and gray wool gloves covering his hands.  It was cold, unseasonably so for New York in December, so his cheeks were a bit flushed and rosy.  And he’d “forgotten” to shave that morning (she’d discovered months and months ago that Steve had a thing with shaving, as in he flat-out didn’t like doing it.  It was apparently the one and only thing about which he was lazy, and she favored the scruff, so that was fine by her), so the beginnings of a beard framed his jaw and oh-so-kissable lips and _I’m never going to make it through today if I keep this up._   They’d arrived last night from DC.  The party was tonight, so that left the whole day today for them to do whatever they wanted.  Her mind was seemingly in the gutter (which was admittedly a good place to be when your boyfriend was as ripped and had as much stamina as Captain America) because once again she’d wanted to douse their suite in Stark Tower with the scent of cinnamon and spice and chain him to the bed until he was begging for mercy.  Instead they ended up going out and about because he wanted to hit all the holiday hotspots.  The tree here.  Window shopping on Fifth Avenue.  Enjoying the people, the atmosphere, the festive mood and the excitement of it all.  It was a perfect day for it.

She sighed.  “You’re going to owe me for this, Rogers.”  She looked down at the skates they’d rented, grimacing a little.  “You are going to owe me _a lot._ ”

He looked flummoxed.  “It’s just like ballet, only on the ice.”  He was well aware of just how good a dancer she was.  “And I’m sure you’ve been skating before.”

“Of course I have,” she returned.  In Russia, skating was nearly required learning.  “Doesn’t mean that I like it.”

“Well, humor me.”  He stepped out onto the ice, turning to face her and skate backwards, gliding perfectly (of course – he was perfect at everything he did).  She didn’t know where _he’d_ learn to skate; it was obscure enough that it was one of the few things they hadn’t done together in the last year.  But learn he had.  He held out his hand to her.  “Come on.”

She hesitated a moment, pursing her lips with her hands on her hips.  Snowflakes cascaded gently all around them, coating their hats and shoulders, and she couldn’t help but fall a teensy bit more in love with him as he stood there, arm offered, head tilted, expression open and waiting.  For a moment, it was easy to remember that she wasn’t Black Widow, a world-renowned spy and assassin, and he wasn’t Captain America, the greatest soldier, leader, and tactical thinker to ever live.  They were just another couple, enjoying a busy Saturday in the midst of all the holiday cheer and hustle.  That was… uncharted territory for her, so she took his hand and let him lead.

She hadn’t skated in _years_ , but it came back easily enough.  They held hands as they went around the rink, quietly and leisurely.  She caught Steve glancing at her once or twice, that ridiculously smug smile that she’d grown to consider cute plastered all over his face.  She knew why.  She couldn’t help but ease into it, because it _was_ fun, the snow light and fluffy around them, other skaters whizzing (or struggling) by, the air sweet with that crisp smell of winter and alive with conversation and music.  And, given the downright infectious jovialness of it all, she couldn’t help but smile.  “There. See?”  He pulled to a stop, pretending to be a little winded (he always did silly stuff like that whenever they were out amongst civilians.  Pretending to be out of breath should the situation require it or pretending like he couldn’t lift a car outright and by himself or pretending like he wasn’t just as strong and capable as he was.  It used to bother her when they’d started as partners, but, again, it had become one of the many things she’d grown to love about him).  “Fun.”

Playfully, she shoved him away.  Him being him, she shoved harder than she should have and it made no difference.  “Maybe.”

“You need more of the Christmas spirit,” he said pointedly, skating around her in a circle.

“Plenty of it here,” she commented blithely.  “You couldn’t have picked a more Christmas-y place to try and get me into the mood.”  _Not the mood I wanted, but it’s still nice._   Then again, if she had a dollar for every time what she _wanted_ to do with Steve come in conflict with what she _had_ to do with Steve, she’d be about as rich as Stark.  It was pathetic but the sort of pathetic she secretly found thrilling.  She’d spent the last year sleeping with him, and she was more addicted than ever.  She also secretly liked that he made her do things like this, live outside his apartment in DC and their world as SHIELD agents and Avengers.  So she smirked and pulled further away.  “Think you can keep up?”

He grinned, pleased at the challenge, and they skated.  Other couples skated around them, families, too, and the music was sweet and charming.  A slow, sweet jazz melody she recognized from a children’s classic.  _“Christmas time is here…  Happiness and cheer…  Fun for all that children call their favorite time of year…”_ She moved along with the melody, the irony (and even nostalgia) not lost on her.  Of course, she was still holding back.  They both were.  She didn’t leap as high as she could or spin as tightly.  He wasn’t as fast or as athletic as he normally was.  It was extremely enjoyable nonetheless, and she found her heart pounding just a bit and her cheeks were cold but alight with fun.  She was showing off just a bit.  Just a little.  And Steve knew it, if his smile was any indication.  He lightly snatched her wrist and pulled her closer as he came out of another spin.  He held her close, and they paused in the middle of the rink.  He was staring at her, an oddly unreadable expression on his face like he wanted to ask something.  Then he did ask something.  “Think Tony’ll have mistletoe at this party of his?”

She was flush to his chest.  That curious look was gone in a flash, and now there was that light in his eyes, that glimmer that always told her he was still just as addicted to her as she was to him.  “Maybe,” she murmured, grinning devilishly.  “Why?”

“Never been kissed under the mistletoe.  Well, never much been kissed before you, anyway, but never done that.”  He grinned, a mixture of sheepish and excited.  “I went to a Christmas dance once.  It was before ma died, so 1938 maybe?  It was nice.  Fun.  Buck spent the whole night trying to get Betty Carson to kiss me under the mistletoe.  She ended up kissing him instead.”

She laughed.  “She was an idiot.”

“Maybe.  Bucky was–”

“Wow.  Can you show us how you did all that?”  They turned to find two young girls had skated up to them.  One was maybe five or six, and the other was clearly her older sister; they both had blue eyes and blond hair peeking out from under their hats.  They were watching in complete awe.

Natasha didn’t know what to say.  She stammered rather uselessly for a second.  “Well, it’s–”

Now Steve grinned devilishly.  “Sure, she can.”  She whirled to glare at him, but any annoyance she felt at him disappeared pretty quickly at the look on his face.

“Yeah!  Thank you!  You’re amazing!  Are you a skater?”  And with that, the two girls grasped her hands and pulled her away, chattering a million miles a minute.

This was not her scene.  _Really_ not her scene.  She didn’t deal with kids, never ever _never_ , so she was completely off-put and terrified at first.  However, she was Black Widow.  She’d fooled some of the world’s most dangerous men into revealing their worst secrets.  She’d acted the part, been just as the situation required with remarkable skill and aplomb.  And this turned out not to be so bad.  She rather quickly eased into it, and, despite how ardently she told herself this wasn’t what she did, she found herself enjoying it more and more.  It helped that these two girls were watching her like she was something absolutely awe-inspiring, like a dancer or a real skater.  She wanted to show them that, something sweet and fun and very far from what she did on a normal basis.  She spent a few minutes teaching them how to spin.  Steve helped, holding their hands and twirling them on the ice, careful not to be too hard or fast with his motions.  He caught them when they slipped.   He steadied them, instructing them on how to shift their weight as they skated.  Pretty soon he was going around the rink, one of the girls on either arm.

Natasha watched, unable to keep another smile off her face.  “I just wanted to tell you thank you.”  The feminine voice behind her drew her attention, and she turned to find the girls’ mother.  She had the same crinkly blond hair, the same eyes.  “You didn’t need to take the time to do that.”

Natasha waved her concerns aside, donning a friendly air.  “It’s nothing.  Really.”

“No, it’s very sweet of you to show them how to skate.  They saw _Disney on Ice_ last week and it’s been all things skating since then.  You and your husband are really talented.  Do you skate professionally?”

Natasha’s brain shorted, and she blanched.  “Oh, no, he’s not my–”

The woman’s cell phone rang, a Christmas ringtone emanating from her purse, and she reached inside to answer.  “Hello?  Yeah.  Yeah, that’s fine.  We’re on our way.  Girls!  It’s time to go!”

The two girls looked absolutely devastated.  They immediately started whining, and between them carrying on as they left the rink and the woman’s conversation on the phone, Natasha didn’t have the opportunity to correct her about Steve.  “Have a merry Christmas!” the lady breathlessly said as she ushered her kids away.

Steve skated closer.  He watched the girls leave, smiling as they finally stopped moaning and groaning about it to look over their shoulders and wave enthusiastically.  He waved back.   Then he nudged her.  “That was _fun_ , right?”

Natasha rolled her eyes.  “You and your need to be a good Samaritan.”

He looked a tad affronted.  “What?  It’s the season of giving.”

“You would have done that anyway, and you know it.”

He flushed.  “Maybe.”  She laughed, looking over the skating rink again and all the people having a wonderful time.  Her brain was still recovering from the shock of the moment before.  _Your husband._ That thought was… new.  And terrifying.  And still shocking.  And ridiculously appealing, she had to admit.  Deep in her heart, she could hold onto the image.  Like a little, silent secret.  Something she knew she could pull out to recapture this moment.  _Be happy._   But…  _no._   That wasn’t who they were.  _This_ wasn’t who they were, not really.  It was just the season.  And this season made people sentimental and crazy.

As if he sensed her unspoken disquiet, he draped his arm over her shoulders.  “Come on.  Let’s get some coffee.”

* * *

_“Silver bells…  Silver bells…  It’s Christmas time in the city…”_

The bells were ringing all along 5th Avenue from Saint Patrick’s Cathedral and Saint Thomas Church.  They were heavy and loud, a crisp, clean sound that echoed among the buildings.  It was snowing a little more heavily now, and small banks from the last couple of days lined the sidewalks.  The streets were busy, of course.  With Christmas only a few days away, there were tons of people out.  Shoppers.  Sight-seers and tourists.  Businessmen and women still working.  Natasha and Steve made their way toward a swanky coffee shop.  She had to admit it was nice stepping inside out of the frigid air, the warmth from the establishment blasting over her as Steve opened the door and let her (and quite a few other people – a whole crowd of them, in fact, who then all got in line right away) inside.  The place was positively hopping with activity, but they luckily found a little table in the corner, a nook next to the shop’s window.  Normally Natasha wasn’t keen on letting Steve wait on her (like ever – she’d practically eviscerated him the last time his Golden Generation sensibilities had had him ordering on her behalf or paying for her portion of their meal or even pulling out her chair for her).  Right now, though, she let him do what he wanted.  So much of his time in this century had been spent acclimating to the way things were now, from new technologies and battle strategies to novel customs to recent events and societal norms to seventy years’ worth of history.  This time of year more than any other, it seemed right to simply let him be who he was, and who he was was still this chivalrous gentleman.

He came back with two steaming cups of cappuccino and a huge muffin of some sort.  The nook was _really_ a nook, so it took some doing for him to wedge his huge frame in the small spot against the corner.  She tried not to giggle.  “Laugh it up,” he groaned as he finally managed.

“I will.  Thanks for your permission.”  She took a sip of her coffee.  It smelled of sweet nutmeg and cinnamon and vanilla.

“Any good?  It’s some kind of holiday blend.”  She nodded.  It didn’t have the flavors she typically enjoyed, but it was delicious nonetheless.  The frothy, foamy stuff on top was particularly nice.  Thanks to her rough upbringing in the Red Room, she wasn’t much into sweet things.  Steve typically wasn’t either for very similar reasons, but he ripped a chunk of the muffin off and popped it in his mouth.  It was definitely gingerbread, if the smell was any indication.  “This is good, too.”

She took an offered piece and tried it.  He was right.  She chewed appreciatively, letting her mind drift back to her earlier thoughts, losing her senses in the gentle hum of conversation in the coffee shop.  As the moments slipped away, she realized he was staring with that odd expression back on his face.  And that she’d eaten most of the muffin.  “What?” she said, her mouth half full.

“Nothin’.”

“No, that is not a _nothing_ face.  What?”

He leaned back in his chair, and the poor thing sounded like it was about to shatter with his weight.  He seemed nervous for a second, but it came and went so fast she wondered if she’d imagined it.  “I was just…  You’re beautiful like this.”

She resisted the urge to blush with the compliment.  It used to be all a lie, the reactions she faked for a male companion.  With him, as they’d fallen more and more in love with each other, it was anything but.  “Like what?  Like this?”  She looked down at her clothes, a simple gray wool long coat over a maroon turtleneck, black leggings, and black boots.  She winked at him.  “Should’ve seen what I was _going_ to wear today if you hadn’t insisted on clean-cut holiday fun.”

He chuckled, but she didn’t miss that glint to his eyes again.  “I’ll see it later.”

She couldn’t help but flirt.  They knew each other so well now.  The way the other thought and felt.  Their hearts and minds.  Their bodies.  But there was still so much spark to it all, this hint of new, unexplored love that she’d treasured in the beginning.  She’d never expected them to last so long, honestly, given how different they were.  A soldier and a spy.  Captain America and Black Widow.  But last they had, and the fun excitement of pushing his buttons in all the right ways never failed to intrigue her.  Her lips twisted into a coy smirk, and she cocked an eyebrow.  “You sure about that?”

He was also a lot bolder than he used to be, and he stared right back.  “Absolutely.”  He won this one, and she looked away first, ducking her head a little to laugh.  He laughed, too.  Then he went on.  “Seriously, you’re just…  You look like you’re having a really good time.”

She hadn’t meant to.  And from anyone else she would have been sharp or harsh in her response.  From him, it felt like very high praise.  “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”  Again she tried not to blush, dipping her lips into her coffee.  He did the same, and when he emerged, there was a dollop of cream on the tip of his nose.  She immediately laughed.  “What?”

“You’re ridiculous,” she said, reaching across to wipe the white smear away.  He groaned, shaking his head at himself and probably about to complain (yet again) about how coffee nowadays was all wrong and tasted more like dessert and why was there even this foamy stuff to begin with, but he never got a chance because she lightly but firmly took his jaw and pulled his face across the tiny table to meet hers.  They kissed slowly and with restraint, with _agonizing_ restraint because she could feel how much he wanted to deepen it to something more.  He tasted like coffee and sweet gingerbread and the fancy nutmeg they sprinkled on top of the cappuccino.  She wanted to _drink_ him.  _Later._

His phone suddenly rang at any rate.  Grunting, he pulled back and tried to dig into the hip pocket of his jeans, which was fairly difficult given how tightly he was scrunched into the corner.  He managed to get it out.  “Hello?” he answered, holding the StarkPhone to his ear.  He still had a streak of foam across his upper lip.  Lord, she wanted to lick it off.  Probably not even realizing it, he did, and that only made the desire pooling inside her worse.  _Later, later, later._   “Yeah, Tony.  Yeah.  We’ll be there.”

A new round of Christmas songs was quietly playing in that pleasant buzz of noise.  _“It’s the hap-happiest season of all.  With those holiday greetings and gay, happy meetings when friends come to call…”_

She smiled into her drink, shaking her head at Stark’s timing.  Steve was still talking.  “Yeah.  What are we doing?”  He glanced across the table at her, and she shrugged.  “Having a good time.  Out doing Christmas things.”  Tony was responding.  She could barely hear his voice over the speaker of Steve’s phone where it was flush to his ear, but whatever he was saying got a patented Steve look of disapproval.  “I don’t even know what that means.”  Again, Tony was talking and now she got a better impression of what he said.  She rolled her eyes.  “That’s… really inappropriate.  And gross.  And, no, we’re not doing that.  No.  _No,_ Tony.  Alright – listen!  We’ll be there.  Have you ever known me to be late?”  A beat later, Steve hung his head at his own stupidity again.  “Yeah, I guess I kinda left myself open to that.”  Natasha smiled into her drink.  “Yeah.  Yeah, seven o’clock.  We’ll be there.”

“Ask him if there’s anything in particular we should wear to this,” she said.  She’d brought a dress just in case; she’d been to a few of Stark’s parties in the past, and you never knew when celebrities or other important people (to him, anyway – she couldn’t care less) would show up.

Steve looked at her quizzically for a second but did as she asked.  “You have it covered?  What the hell does that mean?  Uh…  Okay.  Bye, Tony.”  He pulled the phone down from his ear with a long-suffering sigh.  “Remind me to return his Christmas present.”

“Oh, that reminds me, though.”  She sipped the last of her drink.  “I still need to get a little something for Clint.”

“I thought you already gave him something.  And I thought you don’t buy into this nonsense.  You specifically told me you didn’t want to exchange gifts for that reason.”

She flashed him a smile, sticking another chunk of muffin into her mouth.  “It’s a joke gift, Rogers.  Let’s go.  If we have to be there at seven, we better get moving.”

* * *

_“Santa Claus is coming to town!  Santa Claus is coming to town!  Santa Claus is coming to town!”_

“I don’t think Santa gets gifts from Fifth Avenue,” Steve mused as they walked along the store fronts.  The windows were all elegantly designed to entice holiday shoppers.  High fashion and jewelry and expensive tech and toys.  He gave Natasha a doubtful glance.  “Especially not gag gifts.”

“Clearly you have never spent money frivolously.”

“You know I haven’t,” he responded, and she had to admit that was true.  She didn’t tend to, either, but she hoped he bought her cover story about Clint because if he didn’t, it was going to be mighty hard sneaking around to do what she wanted to do.  They stopped in front of a particularly swanky collection of stores.  Steve’s brow furrowed as he beheld them.  “You’re not serious.”  She nodded.  “Awfully convenient that we went out then,” he suspiciously chided.  “Alright, let’s do this.”

“No.  I can handle it myself.  You’re a terrible liar.  You won’t be able to keep it a secret from him.”

He looked so surprised and then disappointed that she almost thought twice about this.  “Really?”

“I’ll just be a minute,” she promised, heading toward the line of stores before that pathetic, betrayed expression on his face dissuaded her.

“And what exactly am I supposed to do while you’re Christmas shopping?” he called after her.

She turned to glance over her shoulder.  “I don’t know.  Find some little old ladies to help across the street or something.  You’re good at that kind of thing.”  She winked at him, amused at his helpless, befuddled expression, before disappearing into the crowd of people.  In the seconds after, she kept an eye on him for a bit, biding her time until she was sure he wasn’t looking in her direction.  It took him a while of standing in the crowd, sticking out like something of a six-foot sore thumb, before he sighed and went wandering a little.  _Bingo._   With his back turned, she made a beeline for the Rolex store.

So maybe it was a little ridiculous to be doing what she was doing.  Maybe.  Buying him an expensive gift seemed like an odd choice, especially since he was absolutely correct: he didn’t spend money frivolously.  She knew how much wealth he had.  They’d been living together, creeping more and more into each other’s lives domestically, for months now.  Perhaps she’d snooped once or twice (always innocently) around his apartment when he’d been gone.  It wasn’t her fault he left his bank statements and mail from the Army all over the kitchen table or on his desk when she needed files from SHIELD that were right next to them.  Between his back pay, consultant pay, and salary from SHIELD, he was rather flush.  But he didn’t do anything with all that money, and it was sitting in his bank account, slowly gathering interest like old books collect dust.  He’d donated a portion to the VA and other charities and causes he liked, as he told Natasha, but even after that he still had a ridiculous chunk of change to his name.  He was a Depression-era kid, and therefore the mindset of frugality was engrained into him.  How the heck was he going to feel if she spent thousands of dollars on a watch for him?

She decided he’d deal.  As she entered the store, the voice of Bing Crosby greeted her.  _“I’m dreaming of a White Christmas…  Just like the ones I used to know.  Where the treetops glisten and children listen to hear sleigh bells in the snow…”_

“It certainly is a white Christmas this year,” commented the shop assistant who greeted her at the door.  “Can I help you?”

“Yes, I’m…”  For a moment, she faltered and nearly bolted to leave this crazy idea behind before it became permanent.  After all, _she_ had been the one to insist she and Steve not exchange gifts.  _She’d_ been the one to say she didn’t want to buy into all the Christmas nonsense about buying presents and wrapping them and sticking them under a tree (what was the point of that, anyway?).  _She’d_ been the one to convince him it was fine, even though she could tell he hadn’t thought so.  Disappointment on Steve was always a tough thing to swallow.  He’d begrudgingly agreed, though.  That had been a couple weeks ago, and she was becoming more and more certain he’d broken the deal.  She didn’t know why that hadn’t occurred to her until today, that him and his big, dumb heart would lie in order to do what he thought was right and generous, but the way he’d looked at her in the coffee shop and at Rockefeller Center, excitement and anticipation in his eyes…  Yeah, he’d gotten her something.

Which meant she needed to get him something.  _Fast._   “I’m looking for a watch for my boyfriend,” she boldly declared.

Not long after, the assistant had an entire array of watches spread before her.  There were gold ones, silver and platinum ones, with diamonds and features and all exquisitely crafted.  It was almost dizzying, how many choices there were.  She wondered anew if this was a good idea.  It wasn’t like Steve needed a watch; his internal sense of time (thanks to the serum) was so acute and well-tuned that he could usually guess down to the minute.  And, again, there was the issue of the money; none of these watches were less than five thousand dollars (although she, too, had more money than she could possibly spend.  Being the world’s best spy was a lucrative venture).  Still, this was about him, about getting _him_ something to show him how much she appreciated him ( _the thought – how holiday appropriate is that?_ ).  A watch to remind him of _when_ he was and who loved him _here_.  Maybe that was a little bit of a gag gift, but she didn’t really mean it to be.  She _never_ gave gifts, so this was a big deal.  Therefore, when she saw the platinum watch, as simple and strong and handsome-looking as he was, she knew immediately she’d found it.  And she knew right away what she wanted to do.  “How long will it take to have it engraved?”

A few minutes later, she was exiting the Rolex store, the watch in her pocket.  She’d have to keep it hidden, but that shouldn’t be too hard.  And she had to sneak out of the store, because he could be right outside, spying on her.  He’d gotten significantly better at being sneaky since they’d become partners, so she couldn’t assume he wouldn’t be watching.  A quick but careful scan of the street indicated he wasn’t, though.  In fact, she didn’t see him anywhere.  That… usually wasn’t a good thing.  Concerned, she headed down to the corner.  Taxis and cars honked and tried to push through the mess of pedestrians.  It was barely controlled chaos.

_There he is._

Natasha sighed, smiling.  He was very clearly giving a family directions.  It was a young couple, probably about their age.  They looked flustered and exhausted with their four small children ranging from maybe ten to two.  The mother was trying to wrangle the excited kids (what a handful) and the father was talking to Steve, thanking him profusely.  Steve was on his phone, and it was obvious from the conversation he was talking to Happy Hogan, Tony’s security honcho and former driver.  Natasha laughed a bit under her breath.  Steve was trying to get these people a ride from Stark Industries’ fleet of town cars here in the city.  _Him and his big heart._

Suddenly one of the little boys wrenched away from his mother’s hand and barreled out into the street.  Natasha’s heart jumped in horror.  The mother screamed, and everyone on the street stopped for the terrible moment as the child ran headlong into traffic.  A taxi coming down the avenue was headed straight for him.  The driver slammed on the brakes, but with the snowy street and short notice, the car wasn’t going to stop in time.

Steve was a blur of dark wool as he threw himself with one mighty leap in between the taxi and the boy.  He grabbed the child, tucking him to his chest, and pushed back against the cab about to hit them with his free arm.  He was so strong that he was able to supply enough force to bring the vehicle to a complete stop.  The cab pushed them both forward maybe a foot or two, but that was it.

The street was actually silent with shock.  People were watching with wide eyes, completely still despite whatever they’d been doing.  The driver of the cab was white-faced and obviously surprised beyond the pale as Steve slowly rose to his full height, the little kid in his arms.  For one split second (she really needed to stop doing this), Natasha was actually worried if he was okay.  He was, though.  “Sorry about…”  Wincing, he patted the hood of the car where there was a ridiculously large dent from his palm.  “Yeah.”  Like he was suddenly realizing the spectacle he’d made, he walked back to the sidewalk and handed the child to his mother.  “Car will be here in a few minutes to take you wherever you need to go.”  Then he strolled quickly to where Natasha was standing.  “Shall we?”

Sighing, she took his arm and they rushed down the street.

* * *

That could have been a sign that they should quit while they were ahead, but they didn’t.  Instead, with still a couple hours until they were due back at the Tower, they went for a walk in Central Park.  It was kind of the wrong direction, but they were close enough to it and had enough time to kill that Steve suggested it as another perfect holiday activity and she couldn’t possibly tell him no.  Honestly, she was feeling a little anxious about the watch (was this how Christmas shoppers felt in the holiday rush?).  She’d have to find a place to stash it after they got back to the Tower somehow.  She was Black Widow.  If she couldn’t move in secret, something was really wrong.  At any rate, off they went.

She had to admit, though, that _this_ was nice.

_“Our cheeks are nice and rosy and comfy cozy are we…  We snuggle close together like two birds of a feather would be.  Let’s take that road before us and sing a chorus or two…  Come on, it’s lovely weather for a sleigh ride together with you!”_

“Do you play this for all your passengers?” Natasha asked the driver of their carriage.  It wasn’t _exactly_ a sleigh ride, but it was about the closest you could get.  And she had to admit this was nice.  They sat in the back of the carriage on a nicely upholstered leather seat, buried under a blanket.  Snow was still softly falling, the thick flakes gathering on the quilt and on their coats and hats.  Steve was right up against her, an arm very boldly around her shoulders.  She could feel nothing but warmth coming off him where she was nuzzled into his side.  The music was emanating from a couple little speakers in the front.  “Is it mandatory listening right now?”

The driver, an older Italian gentleman who’d probably been doing this for forever, gave a good-natured laugh.  “Yeah, something like that.  You know, people like to hear the classics, especially this time of year.  That’s kind of what it’s all about.”  The horse (a great brown one – she knew nothing about horses) neighed a little as it pulled the carriage through the park.  The soft, golden lights on the street lamps caught the snowflakes in the fading sun, making them twinkle and sparkle.  “First time in the city?”

“Oh, no,” Natasha responded.  She glanced at Steve, who was smiling knowingly.  “We come up once in a while.”

“For business or for fun?”

“Fun today,” Steve said.  “But more often for business.”  Natasha ducked her head to hide a smile.  _Business like aliens invading Midtown._

“What do you do for a living?”

“Security,” they both said at once, maybe a little too forcefully and too coordinated.  Natasha was quick to recover, sensing the man’s surprise.  “I deal in information handling.”  Not too far from the truth.

“Ah, IT?”

“Something like that.”  She nudged Steve in the ribs under the blanket.  “And he’s a soldier.”

The man nodded, pleased.  “Then accept my thanks for serving our nation, son.”

Steve blushed.  It was genuine.  It always was.  “You’re welcome, sir.”

“So you’re home for the holidays, huh?”

“Yep.  Just spending some time with my best girl.”  Steve gave Natasha a shit-eating grin, knowing that sort of drivel usually got under her skin.  She shrugged away from him a little, planning out ideas to make him pay later, gripping his knee under the blanket enough to warn him of just how much trouble he was going to be in. 

“Taking her out on a date.  Enjoying the holiday spirit, right?  Well, it’s a really nice day for it.  Dunno what it is this season, the snow or just that the economy’s finally picking back up or what, but people seem to be really into Christmas this year.”  The driver slowed the horse at some pedestrian traffic ahead.  Natasha looked around the park as he did.  It wasn’t like she needed further proof of what he was saying; the mood had been pervasive and infectious all day.  She saw it again nonetheless.  People engaged in snowball fights.  Kids playing in the park.  Santa Claus here and there and everywhere.  So many couples leisurely walking through the pleasant snowfall.  And the music.  _“When we finally kiss goodnight, how I’ll hate going home in the storm.  But if you’ll really hold me tight, all the way home I’ll be warm!”_   Steve did hold her tighter, grinning like a fool.  _You’ll pay, Rogers._

“You know,” the driver went on, “every year I take my girls out for a ride like this.  They love it, but they really complain about my taste in music.”  The guy laughed, snapping the reins lightly to get the horse going again.  “I tell ’em: when you’re old enough to drive, you can pick the tunes.  You guys have kids?”

_“Let it snow!  Let it snow!  Let it snow!”_

Natasha was so taken aback by the idea that she actually jolted against Steve.  _Again?  Twice in two hours!_ Steve seemed equally surprised, stiffening and looking down at her.  “No,” she answered, recovering faster than he did.  “No, we’re not married.”

The driver guided the horse down the path.  He shook his head, a mixture of rueful and disappointed.  “Really nice day for that, too.”

“Marriage?” Steve stammered, looking pained but pained in an odd way.

“Nah, asking someone to marry you!  I mean, look at this.  Little, pretty snowflakes coming down.  Christmas lights everywhere.  People happy.  Like I said, it’s in the air.  Love.  Tradition.  The spirit of giving.”  Steve squirmed a little.  She thought _maybe_ it _might_ have to do with her palm sliding up his jeans to his thigh.  Maybe.  Why wait until later when she could exact some revenge now?  The driver noticed his pause and misread it.  “Of course, it’s not for everyone.  Getting married, I mean.  Hell, I’ve done it twice.”

Steve stiffened again.  And, again, she couldn’t tell if it was because this whole line of conversation was making him uncomfortable, like he was being pressured into doing something he didn’t want to do, or it was her fingers dancing lightly up his inner thigh.  Truth be told, the driver’s assumptions were making _her_ uncomfortable.  She loved Steve, but _this_ , the physicality, the flirting and the desire and the lust, was really the basis of their relationship.  Right?  That was all they needed.  _Right?_

The watch she’d spent thousands of dollars on for him suggested otherwise.

But she wasn’t going to let that distract her.  Instead, to save Steve from having to respond, she asked.  “How old are your girls?”

They carried on in their meaningless palaver a little bit longer, her hand still curled around the inside of Steve’s left thigh, as they went on their ride.  Eventually the driver quieted and let the music play.  _“I really can’t stay (Baby, it’s cold outside).  I’ve got to go away (Baby, it’s cold outside).  This evening has been (been hoping that you’d drop in) so very nice (I’ll hold your hands – they’re just like ice…)”_   Her fingers she slid even higher on his leg, pretending to look outside at the city.  It was slight, hardly anything at all, but she felt his short intake of breath.  He reached under the blanket and drew her hand into his, kissing her knuckles gently before settling her gloved fingers atop the quilt.  _Nice try._   The driver started prattling some more, asking Steve about where he’d served in the army and the like, and Natasha grinned slyly almost to herself before going right back at it.

By the time the ride was over, he was walking funny and glaring at her.  Once he’d helped her hop down and they were well on their way down the sidewalk away from the line of carriages picking up passengers, he growled a little at her.  “Not nice.”

She flat-out couldn’t resist herself, watching him pull his coat closed around the crotch of his jeans a bit more.  “Does that mean I’m on the _naughty_ list?”

“Lord, Nat!”

She grinned, entirely too pleased with herself, hooking an arm through his elbow and leaning her head on his shoulder.  “That’s what you get for making us go out.  If you’re nice to me, I’ll help you out later.”  He growled in frustration again, a low, vibrating thing she felt in the deep of his throat.  It did things to her that she was going to have to ignore.  _Later_ , she promised herself again.  Hopefully not too much later.

It was getting late.  Tony’s get-together was about an hour away now, and she wanted to take a nice long, hot shower (preferably not by herself) and change before going.  It was also snowing harder now as they walked, and with the sun down all the way, the night was very quickly turning cold.  She started shivering, sticking her gloved hands into the pockets of her coat.  Steve wasn’t as bothered by the low temperatures as she was thanks to the serum, and he put his arm around her again as if to enfold her in his heat.  “You wanna take the subway back?  It’d be quicker.”

Quicker was better, especially if she wanted time to get back to hide her gift (about which she kept thinking and worrying and anticipating.  When in the world had she gotten excited about _giving_ him a Christmas gift?  Damn this holiday).  “Sure.”

They found their way to the subway station that would take them back toward Grand Central.  After paying their way, down the steps they quickly went, hoping to catch the train.  People working for the Salvation Army were there, ringing bells and asking for donations.  Steve immediately went over with his wallet out (again – this was about the fifth or sixth time he’d put money into one of their buckets today.  She had no idea how many more of them had successfully extricated funds from him down in DC).  “Thank you, sir!  Merry Christmas!” the jovial lady called, and Steve smiled.  Just for that, he put another five bucks in the bucket.  “Oh, you’re too kind, sweetheart!”

Natasha took his arm and pulled him away before he gifted the entire contents of his wallet.  “Come on,” she chided.  “You’re not secretly related to Mother Teresa, are you?”

“Who?” he lamely joked, and she shook her head and pulled him to the platform by the tracks.  It was crowded, full of people done with their activities for the day and heading home.  A group of young men, hard and unpleasant-looking, were down the platform a little way.  They didn’t seem… right.  She couldn’t say why.  And she didn’t dwell, not when Steve put his arm around her and sighed gently.  “Not that I know of.”

“You’d stick your credit card in there if they’d take it,” she said.

He looked a little affronted.  “What?  It’s not like I need the money.  Besides, it’s–”

“–Christmas.  Yeah, I know.  The season of giving.”  She nudged him playfully as the train shrieked and screeched its way into the station.  The doors opened and the people onboard got off before they got on.  They were nearly the first into the car, and Natasha had to admit her feet were smarting a little from all the walking that day, so she went to the first seat she could find.  Then she saw (it was getting almost predictable – did dating Captain America attract situations like this?) an old lady and her husband looking for a seat in a crowded car.  Steve was already up from beside her, helping the woman to take his vacated seat.  Natasha groaned inwardly but smiled and did the same for her husband.

Now they were standing, pressed tightly together and holding onto one of the poles in the center of the car.  The train began to move.  Someone down the way had a stereo of some kind, and Mariah Carey’s incredible voice came on.  _“I don’t want a lot for Christmas.  There is just one thing I need…”_   Natasha could have rolled her eyes about some sort of subtle message from God or the Ghosts of Christmas Past, Present, and Future or her guardian angel or _whatever_ , but somehow the moment just sucked her in without a touch of her normal cynicism surviving.  _“I don’t care about the presents underneath the Christmas tree.  I just want you for my own more than you could ever know.”_   Steve shifted closer, towering over her, staring down in her eyes.  She could smell the clean scent of snow and just a touch of his soap.  _“Make my wish come true…”_   She planted a hand gently on his chest as the world fell away.  The train was rocking, jolting wickedly as it bounced and screamed over the tracks, but they were still and steady.  His gloved hand slipped under her chin to lift her face, and he leaned down.  Her stomach tightened in anticipation, her heart pounding, her mind gone from her because this was the perfect moment no matter where they were and what it meant.  It was Christmas, and they were together, and he was going to kiss her.  _“Baby, all I want for Christmas is you.”_

“Alright, everyone!  Get your hands up!  _Get them up now!_ ”

A woman screamed.  Steve leaned back sharply, and Natasha whirled to look behind her.  Sure enough, the group of suspicious looking men who’d entered the train car after them…  Armed robbers.  _You have got to be kidding me._   There were five of them, all bearing guns that they were wildly shoving in the faces of the innocents around them.  They’d donned Christmas masks, Santa and elves and snowmen and reindeer.  It was absolutely ridiculous, seeing a bunch of beloved holiday images holding up a busy Midtown subway during rush hour, but here they were.  “Wallets!  Jewelry!  Everything goes in the bag!”

People cried out, terrified.  Personal possessions were quickly thrown into a pillowcase that was being shoved in front of each passenger.  Two of the men were handling that, moving up and down the car with their guns in one hand and the sacks with another.  The other three were keeping an eye out, jittery and anxious, fingers on the triggers and itching to pull them.  Obviously they thought they’d rob the subway car blind and simply get off at the next stop.  Too bad the car they’d picked happen to have two Avengers on it.

Another woman screamed, and a man whimpered, “Please don’t shoot me!  Please!  Just take it!”

“Everybody shut up!  I see anyone reach for a phone, you’re all dead!” the lead guy bellowed.  “Come on.  Hurry the hell up!”  They were closer now, pushing through the car with guns jabbed into people’s faces and vicious shouts.  Natasha gritted her teeth, turning slowly back so as not to make it obvious.  She slid her hand into her coat pocket where the watch was.  _No way in hell._   Steve was tense beside her, watching the scene with angry eyes.  This was extremely dangerous, five gunmen in a crowded NYC subway on a day like today.  Aside from these poor people being hurt or killed, it would cause mass hysteria.  She knew he’d make a move.  She’d be ready when he did. 

The man with the Santa mask aimed his gun at his next robbery victim.  “The ring, grandma.  Give it up.”

The nice old lady’s face absolutely collapsed.  She closed her hands over her wedding ring.  “No, please,” she begged in a reedy voice.  “Please…”

The gunman lost his patience.  “Right now!  Do you hear me?  Do you?”

And Steve lost his.  “Leave them alone.  _Right now.”_

The weapon whirled in an arc toward Steve.  The people around them in terror, but Steve was unflinching.  So was Natasha.  It took a great deal more than a bunch of over-zealous holiday-themed gunmen to scare them.  “Who the hell are you?” the man spat, his voice muffled behind the mask.  “On your knees!”  Steve didn’t move, staring the other man down.  “Didn’t you hear me?  I said on your goddamn knees or your wife can watch you die, hero boy!”

 _Wife?  God, what the hell is_ with _people?_   Was she missing something?  She held up her left hand.  “Do you see a ring?  We’re not married.”

Steve honest to God stiffened beside her.  The gunman got more flustered and angrier.  “Whatever!  Get on your knees!”

God, this was stupid.  But she really couldn’t stop herself.  “No, I want to know why–”

“What the hell?  _Get on your knees!_ ”

She knew from experience that Steve didn’t take well to demands like that.  Case in point: he moved faster than anyone else could really see (much less stop), batting the gun away and snatching its wielder around the neck.  Natasha moved as well, pissed off at their assumption ( _do I look like someone’s wife or something?  What in the world is going on today?)._ She jumped forward like lightning to go for another of the thugs.  Her boot slammed into his midriff, and the man went down with a cry.  She whirled, driving her palm into the solar plexus of the next guy.  A few series of strikes drove him back.  A gun went off, and people screamed.  Windows shattered, and lights flickered as they were struck by wayward bullets.  Glass exploded through the car.  Everything and everyone lurched and tumbled about as the subway sped around a bend, its wheels sparking and squealing, and the man she was engaging lost his footing.  He fell into one the hand poles in the center of the car.  Another passenger kicked him across the face, and he slumped unconscious.

Natasha rose to her full height.  She looked behind her, not even winded, just in time to see Steve deal with the last two robbers.  He was fast and powerful, even in these cramped and close quarters.  The sound of gunfire again filled the subway car, and everyone ducked and tried to run.  Steve was bleeding from his shoulder, and she saw red and immediately lurched to help him.  It wasn’t necessary, though.  Steve punched the guy roughly in the face.  Natasha knew he’d held back because the bastard stumbled away, face bleeding but very much _not dead._   Steve didn’t even turn, smacking the guy who he’d previously thrown before he could even tackle him from behind.  He flipped through the air and landed hard on his back, soundly knocked out.  The whole crazy melee had lasted not more than a few seconds.

The car was silent for a moment, everyone watching the two Avengers with wide, shocked eyes.  Steve seemed not to care at all that he was bleeding as he helped a lady to her feet.  “Everyone alright?”  There were murmurs of agreement, of astonishment, of gratitude.  Natasha gently helped the little old lady and her husband back into their seats.  Then she went to assist more of the passengers.  No one seemed to be seriously injured beyond a few bumps and bruises.  Except her idiot boyfriend, of course.  Who’d gotten himself shot.  She couldn’t decide, as she collected up the guns and guarded the incapacitated robbers, whether or not she wanted to kiss him or kill him.

A few seconds later, with everyone alright and safe, the subway pulled into the next station.  Cops were already there waiting, as someone had likely phoned the situation into the authorities.  The doors opened, and the emergency personnel were there to escort the grateful passengers away.   Steve and Natasha stayed behind both to keep an eye on the prisoners and help the poor folks to safety.  The nice old lady smiled and took Steve’s face in her withered, gnarled hands by the door.  “Sweet boy,” she commented.  Then she turned to Natasha.  “If he’s not your husband, then all I can say is this: what in the world are you waiting for?”

Natasha blanched in shock.  Steve blushed.  She wanted even more to smack him.  As the last of the passengers were guided to safety and the cops flooded the subway car, he came to stand beside her.  “Merry Christmas?”

Kiss him or kill him?  _Kiss him then kill him._   “Don’t even, Rogers.”

“Right.”

* * *

_“So this is Christmas, and what have you done?  Another year over…  A new one just begun.”_

“I hate this song,” Natasha groused.  “And I hate you.”

_“And so happy Christmas for black and for white.  For yellow and red ones.  Let’s stop all the fight.”_

_Right._

They sat in a little alcove in an emergency room.  The EMTs had _insisted_ that Steve be checked out by the doctors.  Despite the fact that the serum had already stopped the bleeding, Steve had had no choice but to agree; doing anything else would reveal the fact that he was Captain America.  It didn’t seem possible for the situation to get any worse, but that would accomplish it.  She could practically see the sensationalized headlines about Captain America and Black Widow valiantly saving a subway full of holiday shoppers and passengers, and that made her stomach clench and her skin crawl.

This was _not_ how this day was supposed to end.

But that seemed to be what was in the cards.  She sat on an uncomfortable, molded plastic chair beside the examination bed where Steve was laying.  He had his good arm bent at the elbow and behind his head.  His shoulder was wrapped up in thick gauze and bandages.  Around the hole in his previously gray t-shirt there was quite a bit of blood.  He’d only been clipped by the bullet.  Even without the serum, it wouldn’t have been a major impediment.  Steve had refused pain meds, but they’d put him on an IV full of them anyway, so the machine on the other side of the bed was uselessly pumping the equivalent of saline into his veins.  Despite her dour mood, Steve himself seemed rather nonplussed.  “Hey, if you wanted to get out of the party…”  She glared at him, and he blushed and had the decency to look ashamed of himself.

“I swear, I can’t take you anywhere,” she muttered, looking back at the curtain where the cops and EMTs were still gathered.  Any chance of escaping this catastrophe without being questioned was pretty much nil.  Aside from being “heroes” (though, honestly, the robbers hadn’t stood a chance against one of them, let alone both of them), they’d been witnesses, and that meant the police were itching to get their accounts of what had happened.  She’d already answered some cursory questions, keeping their personal information hidden as much as possible (she wasn’t a liar by trade for nothing), but they wanted another interview.  The media was out there, too.  God, there didn’t seem to be any way to escape this.  Forget getting to the party on time.  That ship had sailed.  Getting out _at all_ without causing a fiasco seemed to be a bigger concern.

There was a rustle and a sigh as Steve leaned up.  “Are you really mad?” His voice was quiet, and he looked like…  _Damn it, Rogers._   Like a kicked puppy.  She just stared at him, perfectly willing to let him _think_ he was in trouble.  After all, this day of Christmas fun had been his idea.  And he’d been the one to help everyone in need from the Tower to Central Park and back.  Donating money left and right.  Holding doors.  Saving children.  _Stopping an armed robbery._   Ridiculous.  This was what she got for dating Captain America.  “Are you?  Nat?”

She looked away, deciding she was not under any circumstances going to be seduced (or diffused) by him and this poor, pathetic boy routine.  “I’m deciding.”

“Please don’t put me on the naughty list,” he whispered.  “Please.”

She cocked an eyebrow.  God, it wasn’t fair.  Nobody who looked _this good_ should also be this damn innocent.  He was teasing, but Steve had perfected the art of being a sneaky little shit while appearing one-hundred-and-ten-percent genuine.  It was baffling to her how anyone could think that he was this sweet, little bastion of purity.  “Unless I _should_ be on the naughty list.  In which case, by all means, _put me there._ ”

“You’re a moron,” Natasha hissed.  “No one’s going to be on any list.  In case you haven’t noticed, we’re stuck here.  I need to figure out how to get us out of this mess without having SHIELD come down on us hard for interfering in a civilian matter without authorization!”  She said that softly but harshly, frustrated, irritated, and uncertain of who might be listening in.  “We could have spent the _whole day_ in bed, having a good time together.  But, oh no, _you_ had to insist we go out.”

His face fell, and this was genuine.  “Sorry.”

She sighed shortly.  It was impossible to stay angry with him, because even though Steve Rogers _could be_ a sassy, sneaky little shit, all the stories about him being a good man were _completely true._   She’d realized that about two seconds into being his partner.  She couldn’t fault him for donating money he didn’t need or helping a family get to where they needed to go or making two little girls’ day by convincing Black Widow to teach them to skate.  She absolutely _could not_ fault him for saving those people on the subway.  She would have done the same (and had, even if her motives weren’t quite as pure.  Who the hell were they to think they were married?  She still couldn’t get over it!).  So while it eased her frustration to blame him for this mess, it wasn’t right, and she knew it.  She heaved a longer sigh and got up out of her chair.  Cupping his face, she brushed her fingers through the beginnings of the beard on his jaw.  “It was fun, though,” she said in all seriousness.

His eyes immediately brightened.  “I knew you weren’t faking.”

“No, I’m pissed.  Don’t get me wrong.  But I always have fun with you.”  How far she’d come to be able to admit that so easily.

He tipped his chin up, letting her brush her thumb over his lower lip.  “Tony’s going to be mad,” he muttered tiredly.

“Definitely.”

“He was so excited.”

“Yeah.  I guess he’ll have to get over it.”

“Makes you wonder why, though.”  That was true.  Silence came between them, the soft music playing lowly in the background.  She wasn’t sure from where it was coming.  The emergency room.  The lobby.  It didn’t matter.  _“Friends and relations send salutations, sure as stars sing above.  But this is Christmas…  Yeah, it’s Christmas, my dear.  It’s the time of year to be with the one you love.”_   Natasha sighed to the soulful blues, carding her fingers through Steve’s hair, scratching his scalp lightly.  _Ridiculous,_ she thought, given how apropos it was.  She might be tired and annoyed that things had gone this way, but at least she _was_ with him.  He wrapped his arms around her, hugging her tight through her coat.  She felt him brush the box in her pocket before he did, and she immediately tensed.  _Oh, crap._   He leaned back, confusion in his eyes.  “What’s in your–”

The curtain was pulled back, and they yanked away from each other as a doctor walked in.  He was looking at a chart, which was good since he would have noticed the two of them holding each other otherwise.  “Okay, Mister…”  His brow furrowed.  “I guess we don’t have your name.  Let’s fix that.”

Steve grimaced slightly, glancing at Natasha for guidance.  She had none to give.  He wasn’t a terribly proficient or convincing liar.  “Rogers?” he eventually offered with half a shrug and a wince.  At least it was a fairly common last name.

The doctor penned it in.  Thankfully he didn’t ask anything more, looking instead at the chart.  “Well, your shoulder should be okay.  The admitting doctor mentioned getting an MRI to see how the internal damage is–”

“That’s really not necessary,” Steve said, and it wasn’t.  At all.  They needed to stop this before the doctor looked closer and saw the wound was _well_ on its way to healing.  That would be impossible to hide, and they wouldn’t need an MRI to see it.

“It’s standard procedure.  Also you should be lying down with the blood loss.”

“He’s okay,” Natasha firmly insisted.  “In fact, we really need to get going.”

“Your husband was shot, Mrs. Rogers.  I don’t think that’s something to be taken lightly.”

 _God, not again._ Natasha bristled, at the absolute end of her rope.  “He’s not my–”

The doctor’s cell phone suddenly beeped from his white coat, and he fished it out.  He read the screen, and his forehead crinkled even more.  “I’ll be right back.  Excuse me.”  Back out he went, pulling the curtain closed behind him.

Steve and Natasha shared one look, and, thanks to months of working closely together as partners in dangerous situations, they silently but perfectly communicated a plan of action.  _Run._   She grabbed his coat and sweater, tossing the first at him so he could get dressed.  He pulled the IV from his wrist before doing so quickly.  He was stuffing his arms into his coat when the curtain was yanked open again.

Natasha couldn’t believe who was there.  “Sir?”

Nick Fury looked like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to laugh at them or disown them.  It was always scary when you couldn’t tell what he was thinking (not that you _ever_ could completely, but sometimes you could at least get a hint).  It was even harder to get any sort of idea when _you_ were the one in his line of fire.  “I swear, you two are almost more damn trouble than you’re worth.”

Steve was always quick to defend himself when it came to Fury.  “Sir, we had to do something!  We couldn’t just–”

Fury raised a hand, and his expression softened.  “I know.  _I know._   But don’t argue with me.  I have dragged you two out of more bad situations over the last year than any other agents I have.  You, Cap, in particular are a problem.  You attract trouble like Scrooge attracts ghosts.”  He stared at them, completely deadpan.  “See what I did there?  My token effort for the season.”

Natasha had to school her face into a professionally stern expression.  “Yes.  It’s great.”  Steve nodded enthusiastically now that he was realizing they weren’t actually in that much trouble.  “What are you doing here, Director?” she asked.

“I _was_ in the city to meet with Hill to go over the specs for Operation: Crackdown,” Fury responded, folding his arms across his chest with a crackle of black leather, “which, in payment for me hauling my ass all the way down here to bail _your_ asses out of this mess, you will participate in.  We need people to command the assault teams.  Got that?”

“Yes, sir,” Steve agreed, and Natasha did as well with an arched eyebrow.

Fury seemed pleased.  “After the holidays, of course.  So get out of here.  Stark sent his security guy over to get you two back to the Tower.  He’s at the back door.  And next time, I don’t want to hear through the grapevine that you two have caused a mess again.  Got it?”  Both of them were too surprised, frankly, to do much more than nod again.  “Good.”  Fury gave a curt frown.  “Merry Christmas.”  And with that, he was gone.

They didn’t waste much time, even given the urge to simply _absorb_ that this incredibly _weird_ thing had just happened.  They walked ( _walk, don’t run_ ) out of the little alcove, heading to the rear of the emergency room where the back entrance was.  “Am I nuts,” Steve breathed when they were out of earshot of the cops and doctors who’d let them leave, “or did he just…”

Natasha cocked her head.  She supposed stranger things had happened.  “Think he’s really one of Santa’s elves under all of… _him?_ ”

They weren’t quite in the clear, but Steve grabbed her arm and stopped her.  Then he broke out in loud laughter.  Natasha watched him a moment before joining in, still reeling in the craziness of it all.  The image of Nick Fury in red and white striped candy cane stockings and a green elf jerkin and a pointed shoes and a pointed hat…  _Yeah._

Stranger things had happened.

_“In the meadow we can build a snowman and pretend that he is Parson Brown…  He’ll say, ‘Are you married?’  We’ll say, ‘No, man, but you can do the job when you’re in town!’”_

The song brought another picture to mind, one of Fury as a snowman turned minister with Steve and she clambering about him in some make-believe wedding.  That was about as stupid as imagining him as an elf (and infinitely more damn unsettling), so she banished the thought, grabbed Steve’s hand, and ran before anyone noticed they were gone.

* * *

_“Later on, we’ll conspire as we dream by the fire.  To face unafraid, the plans that we made…  Walking in a winter wonderland.”_

“I take it back,” Natasha muttered as they rode up the Tower’s elevator to the guest suites they’d been given.  She was more and more annoyed with it all but mostly because of that dumb picture that had flitted through her head back at the hospital.  That one of she and Steve making pretend they were getting married in front of a “Parson Brown”.  As the tune softly played _yet again_ on the Tower’s music system, she just couldn’t stand it.  “I hate _this_ song.  It’s far and away the most overplayed, godawful, and _mmph!_ ”

Steve pinned her right into the side of the elevator, pushing her against the wall.  There was really no way for her to escape (not that she wanted to) and nowhere to go even if she could (again, _not that she wanted to_ ).  Apparently a day’s worth of teasing and turning each other on had finally boiled over.  She moaned in the back of her throat, opening his mouth to him as he rather clearly stated his intentions of devouring her.  Twining her hands around his neck, she kept him close, deepening the kiss more and more, hooking her leg around his thigh and holding on tight.  When he finally pulled away for a breath, she gasped, tipping her head back to look at the ceiling.  “There’s no time for this,” she whimpered.  He was kissing down her neck, pulling the fabric of her sweater away to get lower.  “Your fault.  You wanted Christmas fun.”  She felt his teeth scrape lightly over her collar bone.  _God._ “Party.  Right now.  Already late.”

“Don’t care.”

Apparently he _did_ care though, grunting in irritation as the elevator doors opened.  And, again, he was walking funny as he headed down the corridor, pulling her gently but rapidly with him.  They somewhat panted and groped their way into the suite.  Natasha grabbed him this time, practically wrapping herself around him.  Somehow they staggered over to the bed, Steve losing his coat on the way, Natasha peeling off hers ( _watch!_ ) and surreptitiously making sure the box was hidden as he set her down on the mattress beneath him.  He kissed her harder, rolling his hips into hers, dragging a moan from them both.  They were already late.  What was a few more minutes?

“Captain Rogers.”  Tony’s damn AI butler’s pleasant voice echoed through their suite, and Steve groaned, looking up from where he was currently trying to divest Natasha of her sweater.  “Agent Romanoff.  I do apologize for interrupting you, but Mr. Stark would like you to know that you are forty-eight minutes late to his party.  He asked me to inform you that you, and I quote, blew your day on dumb holiday crap so now there’s no time for you to sink the holiday sausage.”  Steve groaned a curse, burying his face into Natasha’s neck.  She could practically feel the heat of his blush.  “He also asked me to inform you that he provided the attire for tonight’s festivities.”

Steve sat up quickly, eyes widening in panic and horror.  “Oh, no,” Natasha whispered.  “No, no, no.”  _Oh, God, what did we get ourselves into?_

“It is located in the closet.  Failing to properly dress for this occasion will result in refusal of your entrance into his party, as well as public shaming in the form of labeling you both as ‘Scrooges’ and the subsequent gifting to you of an endless supply of the worst holiday fruitcake imaginable every year from now until the end of time.”

“Overly dramatic much?” she grumbled.

Steve sighed.  “I actually like fruitcake.”

She swatted him lightly.  Private time was going to have to wait.  _Again._ “Go take a shower.”

Thirty minutes later they were both freshly cleaned up and wearing their “uniforms” to Tony’s party.  Apparently the eccentric billionaire had thought it would be “fun” to combine their actual Avengers uniforms with Christmas garb.  Somewhat.  “It’s a bad Christmas sweater party,” Natasha explained as they headed up to the penthouse.  She looked at Steve and tried her damnedest not to laugh.  Honestly, it wasn’t _too_ bad.  His sweater was very red, with Captain America’s iconic star still on his chest, only it was supposed to be the Star of Bethlehem in this case.  Cheap, poorly done, distorted depictions of the Nativity were below it on the lower half of the sweater.  It was godawful.  Hers wasn’t much better, a spider (where in the world had he found a Christmas sweater with a _spider_?) with a glowing red nose pulling a sleigh.  She wondered if it wasn’t some design inspired by _The Nightmare Before Christmas._   No matter what it was, it was terrible, too.  At Steve’s confused expression, she explained.  “Everyone wears the most atrocious Christmas sweater they can find.  It’s kind of a competition to see whose is the worst.”

“So the point is to look tacky?”

“More or less.  I’ve never been to one.  This wasn’t exactly a tradition in Russia.”

“Or back home.”  He heaved a sigh, tipping his head at that.  “Well, I guess I don’t need to worry about looking like a fool then.”  She supposed it was possible Stark had done this to them and everyone else was going to be wearing Armani, but she doubted Tony would be that cruel.  Still, Steve seemed nervous again, fidgeting and pulling at the collar of his sweater (given the cheap quality of the material, that seemed natural.  It didn’t breathe for _anything_.  If Tony had actually had these things made, he could have splurged and ordered better quality fabric.  But, then, that would ruin the illusion, she supposed).  The whole day he’d been periodically _off_ about something.  In the carriage.  In the coffee shop.  At the skating rink.  Of course, she wasn’t entirely feeling herself either, what with his present in her handbag.  She didn’t know why, but after she’d gotten herself ready and he’d been finishing up in the shower, she’d decided she was doing this tonight.  Giving him the watch, that was.  It seemed like the thing to do, giving someone you love an expensive gift at a holiday party.  So she was going to do it.

She was actually _excited_ about it.

The doors to the penthouse opened, and there were hundreds of people inside.  It looked like a bomb had gone off, a nuclear bomb of _Christmas_ with streamers and tinsel and stars and lights.  In the center of the massive, open room there was a tree only marginally smaller than the Rockefeller Tree, practically frosted in lights.  And music was blaring.  _“Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell rock…  Jingle bells swing and jingle bells ring!  Snowin’ and blowin’ up bushels of fun…  Now the jingle hop has begun!”_

The biggest, most special little jingle bell of them all was right there to greet them.  Tony grinned like the devil.  He, too, was wearing an ugly sweater, although his was significantly better than both of theirs (of course).  It exactly mimicked Iron Man’s chest plate, arc reactor and all (and the arc reactor obviously had some sort of LED/battery contraption, because it really glowed), only it was wrapped in knitted Christmas lights.  “You made it!” he cried happily, throwing an arm around Steve’s shoulders.  “What do you think, Capsicle?  Huh?  I kick ass.”

“Uh…  It’s Christmas-y?”

“Festive,” Natasha supplied.

Tony looked a tad bit drunk already, cheeks flushed and eyes loaded with good cheer.  “Yeah, I went all out.  You know, I spent last Christmas stranded in Nowheresville with a bunch of fire zombies trying to kill me wearing a stolen poncho.”

Natasha shook her head slightly.  It wasn’t like they hadn’t heard this one before.  “You don’t say.”

“I _do_ say, so that’s why this year, I decided to _really embrace_ the season.  I think it’s a hit.”  It did look that way.  There were _tons_ of people enjoying themselves, all dressed in awful sweaters, dancing and drinking and eating.  A full bar was serving everything under the sun, all top shelf.  A station next to that was doling out egg nog into mugs.  There was also a massive buffet filled with any type of food one could want to eat.  Knowing Stark, it had probably come from the finest chefs in the city.  Over the music, there was the sound of laughter, of happy chatter.  There was no denying Tony was right.  It was a hit.

“Thanks for inviting us, Tony,” Steve said genuinely.  He handed Tony the bottle of wine they’d brought.  Natasha had repeatedly told him he didn’t need to do that, and one bottle of wine was nothing to Stark who probably owned his own vineyard some place.  But Steve being Steve had insisted.

And Tony was actually touched.  “Oh, nice.  Cool.  Let’s pop this sucker open.  Hey, I think Thor brought some sort of Asgardian super juice.  That means you have a shot of experiencing the true meaning of the holidays.”  Steve opened his mouth to protest, but Tony had already looped an arm around his shoulders again to drag him toward the other Avengers.  Natasha smiled, shook her head, and followed.

Surprisingly and for all her moaning and groaning, the party was great.  She’d been a tad wary that it would be filled with people she didn’t know, thus turning what should have been fun into work.  But it wasn’t.  Clint was there, grumbling the entire time about the godawful brown and red sweater Tony had for him that had a hawk with a Santa hat on it.  Bruce was surprisingly at ease, laughing at everyone’s jokes, as far from the quiet, reserved scientist he typically was as she’d ever seen him.  His sweater was just green ( _creative, Stark_ ).  Thor was as loud and gregarious as he always was, and his sweater had some sort of wool cape attached to it.  He thought this was great fun indeed.  Pepper and Jane were there, as well as Jane’s assistant, Darcy.  Erik Selvig.  Happy Hogan and other people she knew were Stark Industries higher-ups.  Clint’s wife and kids (they immediately came to her, and she was thrilled to see them).  Even Maria Hill and other folks from SHIELD.  Friends and family together for the holidays.  Suddenly it didn’t seem like such nonsense.

Food was consumed in excess.  People danced.  Toasts were made to a wonderful holiday and a happy New Year.  She stood beside Steve, sipping some sort of martini concoction (normally she disliked sweet drinks, but this was very good).  She could see Steve was actually a little loose, a little tipsy even.  Thor kept putting shots of whatever Asgardian brew he’d brought in that little flask of his into Steve’s drinks.  It wasn’t getting him _drunk_ exactly, but he was definitely a tad inebriated.  She was happy for him.  He never got to let go like all the rest of them could, so that was nice.  “A gift,” Thor declared, “so that our captain can enjoy this most joyous of seasons.”

 _“Everybody knows… a turkey and some mistletoe can help to make the season bright.”_   Nat King Cole was singing.  _“Tiny tots with their eyes all aglow will find it hard to sleep tonight.”_

“I hate this song,” Clint grumbled.

Rhodey shook his head at the archer.  “You’re a bag of bah-humbug tonight,” he commented.  Clint smirked and raised his glass to that.  He, too, looked a tad tipsy.

“I find it funny,” Bruce offered, “that you’re so down on Christmas considering you’re the only one of us who has kids.”

“Just because I have kids doesn’t mean I like playing Santa,” Clint replied.  “’sides, mine are long past believing in any of it.”

Thor grunted, downing his liquor.  “On Asgard, we have a similar holiday with a fabricated gift-giver.  However, everyone knows him to be a myth.”

“We do here, too,” Maria said.  “Just more fun to make believe.”

“Wait, wait!  J, rewind the song!”  Steve shared a confused look with Natasha given that Tony was staring right at him.  JARVIS did as requested.  “Ah, I knew it!  Wow, can’t believe I never noticed this before.  Cap, I need to give you the boot from this shindig.”

Steve shook his head.  “Huh?  Why?”

“You’re officially out of ‘The Christmas Song.’  You and Thor.  You’re funnier, though.”

Steve didn’t get it for a second.  No one else did, either.  Then…  _“And so I’m offering this simple phrase to kids from one to ninety-two.”_   Then Steve sighted and rolled his eyes.  “I’m not ninety-five, you know.  Not really.  And it’s not like I’ve been around for ninety-two Christmases.”

“Still…”  Tony grinned cheekily.

“Age discrimination, Cap,” Clint offered.  “Ageism?”

“And technically you have.”  Rhodey could be a sarcastic sneak when it suited him.  He had a sweater that matched Tony’s, only it was gray and silver for War Machine.  “You were probably closer to Christmas than any of us.”

“Hey,” Tony said, pointing at his best friend.  “You have an excellent point.  Maybe it was one of those things.  So many bad Christmas movies are about someone having to inherit the whole Santa thing.  Maybe that was you.  For seventy years, you ran Christmas from the North Pole.”

Steve didn’t always take well to jokes about how he’d been lost in the ice.  Even though he glared at Tony now, though, Natasha could tell it was in good spirits.  “You’re drunk, Stark.  And a moron.”

“No, no!  This makes perfect sense!  You did your tenure, and then they sent you back to us!”  Tony looked ridiculously proud of this stupidity.

Thor tipped his head.  “It does explain how you and this Saint Nick character share so many common traits.  Faith in people.  Goodness.  Generosity.  Kindness.”

Steve blushed as red as his sweater.  “Um, thanks, but that’s not it.”  He shook his head, eyes filled with puzzlement.  “So wait a minute.  I’m out of this Christmas song, and somehow you think that means I’m Santa Claus?  I’m not sure I follow the logic.”

“Not sure there is any,” Clint grumbled, popping some sort of hors d’oeuvres into his mouth.

Tony clasped Steve’s shoulder, and Thor dumped more of his concoction into Steve’s glass.  “Keep drinking,” Stark ordered.  “It’ll make sense eventually.”

The party went on for hours.  The time really flew.  It was fun to laugh, to be at ease, to really enjoy the occasion.  People started to leave as the clock approached midnight.  The quieter room was pleasant, because Natasha couldn’t quite escape the fact that she was a little drunk, too.  She could really hold her liquor; it was part of her job, when she worked situations like this.  But letting her guard down had really amplified the effect of the alcohol, and the feeling of being a tad buzzed was nice.  Some people were further along.  Tony.  Clint.  Thor (she thought, though it was harder to tell).  Jane’s intern.  A bunch of other stragglers.  The mood turned more intimate, more loose.

_“Merry Christmas, darling.  We’re apart, that’s true.  But I can dream, and in my dreams I’m Christmasing with you.”_

“You guys seen Steve?” Natasha asked as she found Tony and Pepper snuggling on one of the couches.

“Ever notice how it’s only okay to listen to the Carpenters at Christmas?” Tony said.  He was really getting there now, slurring a bit.  Pepper was practically in his lap, her legs over his.  Her sweater, of course, had the Stark Industries logo on it.  “The Carpenters and Bing Crosby.  Like Christmas traditions.  And what the hell is Christmasing?”

“Hey,” Pepper chided lightly.  She snuggled closer.  “I like this song.”

_“The logs on the fire fill me with desire to see you and to say that I wish you merry Christmas…”_

Tony grunted, eyes blank as he thought.  “I dropped the ball on that.  We needed a fireplace for the party.”

Natasha rolled her eyes a little.  “Steve?  Have you seen him?”

Tony weakly flung his hand in the direction of the balcony.  “I think he and Thor went out to get some air.  Or throw up.  Or both.”

Natasha rolled her eyes more and left the two of them to their cuddling.  She headed up the steps, passing more tiring party-goers, before finding the doors to the balcony.  Thor wasn’t out there, though he had been recently if the huge tracks in the fresh snow were any indication.  Steve was alone by the railing, looking out over the city.  She drew a deep breath, putting her hands behind her back to hide the little box.  _Now or never._

She pulled open the door and quietly made her way out to him.  There was no sneaking up on Captain America, and he turned around right away.  “Why are you out here without a coat?” he said with a frown.

“Looking for you,” she replied with a smile.  “Besides, feel like I’m overheating in this thing.”  That was true enough.  She felt hot and a little sticky with perspiration.

He chuckled, reaching his hand out to her.  She came, the snow crunching under her heels, and stood right beside him.  It was cold but not unbearably so.  He was a furnace beside her anyway, and she snuggled closer.  The city was quiet and peaceful, an endless field of snow and sparkling lights.  _Silent night._   She smiled.  “I had a good time today,” she eventually said.

He rubbed her arm gently.  “Me, too.”

“And this is a nice party.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“Staying back down in DC would have been nice, too, but I’m glad you convinced me.”

He laughed at her way of admitting he’d been right.  “You’re welcome.”

They were silent again a moment.  Natasha stole glances at him.  He looked happy.  A little flushed with drink.  Handsome, despite the horrendous sweater.  This was going to be okay.  She was his girlfriend, his lover.  She was _in love_ with him.  She could give him a gift.  So she drew a deep breath, pulled away, and handed him the little box.

He looked shocked for a moment, like he’d never been given a present like this before.  That might have been the case, she realized, given he’d grown up poor before going to war and had only been in the future for a couple years now.  “What’s this?”

“For you,” she simply stated.

He looked even more surprised.  Then his lips twisted, like he was caught between wanting to frown and wanting to smile.  He arched a disapproving eyebrow.  “I thought we decided we weren’t going to get each other anything.  I thought _you_ decided that.”

She shrugged.  “Apparently I lied.  I’m good at that.”

“Yeah, but, Nat, you said that so I didn’t get you a gift,” he said with a sigh, taking the box.

Well, maybe she’d guessed wrong about that.  But she was realizing that didn’t matter.  _That_ wasn’t what Christmas was about.  She’d been told that over and over again over the last few years, but she’d never _felt_ it before.  What it meant to really give someone something and not care at all about getting anything in return.  The light in his eyes, the smile on his face, the excitement hidden in his words…  “Open it, Steve.”

He did.  Conscientiously he ripped the expensive silver wrapping paper the store had used, the movements very appropriate to someone who was raised never to waste anything.  With the paper away, he saw the fine box beneath.  He read the name and looked up.  “Okay, I know I’m still not up-to-date with everything nowadays, but I know Rolex means expensive.”

“Don’t worry about that,” she reprimanded gently.  She smiled, _beamed_ even.  “It’s fine.”

He wasn’t convinced, but he opened the box.  She wanted to look at the watch, but the emotions playing across his face were far more rewarding.  Surprise.  Reluctance.  And then a whole lot of astonishment.  “Nat, I…”  He shook his head.  “I’m not worth this.”

“Yes, you are,” she replied firmly.  She took the watch out and gave it to him.  “You are to everyone.  And you definitely are to me.”

He swept his thumb over it, still in awe.  “It’s amazing.  Never had something like this.”

“Check the back.”

He turned the watch over.  There, engraved in the silver, words were printed in flowing script. _“You’re the one I want to go through time with.”_   His eyes widened a little bit as he silently read that.  Then he looked up, slack-jawed and pretty well shocked into a stupor.  She flushed, worried all the sudden that she’d made a mistake.  After all, this wasn’t like her.  At all.  “It’s from a song.  Always thought it was pretty.”  She admitted that like she was trying to disclaim it.  He still didn’t seem capable of saying anything.  She cleared her throat.  “And it winds itself when you walk.  And it’s white gold, silver, and platinum.  I didn’t know what you’d like, but if you don’t like it, we can–”

She couldn’t finish because he was hugging her tight.  Natasha grunted, smooshed into his embrace.  She always knew when he was really touched by something because he forgot to reel in his strength as much as he usually did.  “Thank you,” he whispered into her ear.  “I love it.”  Relief left her nearly shivering in his arms, and she hugged him back.  He didn’t have any idea how good he was, how special he was, how much he meant to her.  If this told him just a little bit how much she loved him…  That was all she needed.

The music from the party was quieted by the fact they were outside, but they could still hear it.  Soft and meaningful.  _“Have yourself a merry little Christmas.  Let your heart be light.  From now on your troubles will be out of sight…”_   It certainly felt that way.  She felt light and free.  So in love.  Everything was just as it was supposed to be.

He pulled away, grinning broadly, and put the watch on.  Then he looked at it, lifting it into the light from the party behind them to inspect the details.  “This is really neat.”  She’d figured he’d like the snazzy features, the extra hands and the fact you could see a bit of the gears.  He hugged her again when he was through, alight with exhilaration.  “Thank you!”

She was so, so happy she’d done this.  “You’re welcome.  Merry Christmas.”

He hugged her tight again.  “Merry Christmas, Nat.”

They were quiet again for a moment, both of them positively high with their feelings.  Then he noticed her shivering.  The cold was getting to her more and more the longer they stayed out here.  Furthermore, it was starting to snow again.  “Shall we?”

They went back inside, hand in hand, but they didn’t get very far.  As they came back in the main room, having swung around the other way to get fresh drinks, Tony shouted, “Kiss!  Come on!”

They looked up.  Above them, hanging in the doorframe, was mistletoe.  The little sprig of green was wrapped in red ribbon, dangling aloft and waiting, like a toll that needed to be paid for reentrance.  Steve laughed in surprise.  Natasha actually flushed, given almost _everyone_ in the room was watching them now.  The Avengers.  Their friends.  “Guess I’m finally going to get my kiss?” Steve said.

“Guess so,” she agreed, smiling coyly.

He grinned, wrapped his arms around her to keep her close, and kissed her breathless.

* * *

That was the straw that broke the camel’s back.  _Or reindeer’s.  I don’t even know anymore._

_And I don’t care._

There was simply no going back.  She was dragging him away, tugging him less than subtly to one of the coat closets in the back of the penthouse.  This was _so_ immature.  They weren’t a couple of drunk, horny teenagers (well, they weren’t teenagers).  But here they were, sneaking into a closet ( _this is bigger than Steve’s whole apartment!_ ), hands all over each other.  It was dumb and he was Captain America and she was Black Widow and they were _Avengers_ and they were going to get caught and _to hell with all of that._

_“Rockin’ around the Christmas tree at the Christmas party hop.  Mistletoe hung where you can see.  Every couple tries to stop.”_

“Tried,” she gasped as he pushed her against the far wall.  It was really dark in here, and the party was loud outside.  He captured her mouth, ignoring the song, delving inside with his tongue.  She shoved him back a little.  “And succeeded.”

“This is a really a bad idea,” he gasped, breathless and flushed with arousal.  He wasn’t exactly stopping though.

And neither was she.  “We’ve had really bad ideas plenty of times before,” she reminded, nipping at his lower lip.  His hands were grabbing at her godawful sweater and the light camisole she’d put on beneath it.  “And they’ve all turned out fine.”

He grunted.  He’d pushed her shirt all the way up now, bearing her bra.  She’d rucked his sweater up, too, her fingers pressing hard into the muscles of his back.  “But there’s…”  He leaned down to kiss her neck.  “–a perfectly nice bed–”  His lips moved down quickly, a rushed laving of attention to the valley of her breasts.  “–right downstairs.”  Natasha’s head thunked back into the wall as his hand dipped into the cup of her bra, his thumb sweeping right over her nipple.  The calluses on his fingers were familiar and so delicious, and with the frantic heat of the moment, everything was on the right side of rough as he touched and teased.

“Too far away,” she groaned.  “Waited…  Waited all day for this.”  His face went down into her chest, and he was pulling at her undergarments to get at what he wanted (which was everything).  His lips were a hot trail across her skin, quick, wet kisses as he palmed her breast and tortured her nipple into painful attention.  She arched her back, desperate for more, and when his mouth finally settled right where she wanted it, she whimpered and her head hit the wall behind them again.  The only thing she could feel was sweet pleasure, his swirling tongue and experienced teeth, the delicious soft burn of his beard on her soft skin, and she wanted to melt.  He went for the neglected side after a moment, and she thought she heard fabric rip.  Her bra went rather loose around her.

“Whoops,” he said, wincing.  She simply took this as an opportunity to attack, and she did ferociously.  Now she was the one who demanded acquiescence, and he surrendered as her tongue swept over his teeth before going deeper.  While she conquered his mouth, she ripped her sweater off and the remains of her bra with it.  Then she turned him around, shoving him against the wall.  Her hands went right to his belt.  She had it undone and his button and zipper open in a second.  She could feel how he was straining against his jeans, and he hissed at the release of pressure.  Now he did hesitate.  Maybe she knew all of Captain America’s desires and dreams, but he was still something of a boy scout.  And they weren’t drunk enough to totally ignore that _there were a hundred people_ , including family and friends, outside.

She didn’t hesitate, though.  Down she went to her knees.  “Nat, maybe – _Oh, hell…_ ”  She freed him from his boxers, barely even pushing his pants down and out of the way.  There was no time to do the amount of teasing she’d normally do, not with the thrill of being caught driving her.  Instead she kissed and licked her way up his length before taking him in her mouth.  He stiffened with equal parts terror and pleasure.  “Nat, Jesus, I…”

She pulled away wetly to chastise him.  “Taking the Lord’s name in vain, at this time of year even.”  She clucked her tongue before she grabbed his hips, hooking her nails into his flesh and pretty firmly telling him he needed to stay put.  He’d gotten himself into this mess, with all of his Christmas this and Christmas that and denying her what she’d wanted since before they’d left DC.  Now he was going to have to just take it.

And she knew how to torment him.  There was no time now, so she did all the things she knew drove him wild faster, one on top of the other.  Little nibbles, just enough teeth to be on the right side of painful to overly sensitized flesh ( _yeah, two people can play at that one, Rogers_ ), suckling enough to be teasing before taking him deeper.  He groaned, hands going to her hair.  He was very careful not to pull her or move her or even guide her, even as his body wracked with pleasure.  The watch snagged in her hair a little, but she didn’t care.  _A reminder._ “This is such a bad idea,” he whimpered, eyes on the door for a moment and then rolling up to the ceiling.  “Such a bad idea!”  She gave him a long, playful lick.  “Oh, God, don’t do that…  Don’t like it when I can’t…  When you don’t get anything out of it!”

That was what he never understood.  She _was_ getting _everything_ she wanted out of this.  It was empowering, that she could do this to him, make him unravel beneath her hands and lips.  This wasn’t something they did too often, but when they did, she usually drew it out until he was a shivering, shaking mess, struggling just to hang on.  She was terribly proficient at pushing his buttons, at getting him close only to pull him back.  Unfortunately, she didn’t quite have the time to do any of that right now.  Heart pounding with the danger of it all, she grabbed his hips harder, holding him still through a couple half aborted thrusts, making him shudder through the disappointment one last time as she let up on the heat and pressure.  Then she took pity on him because he looked about ready to die of either embarrassment or frustration and got him off.

Steve was quiet, his fist in his own mouth to keep himself that way as he shuddered through his release.  She helped him down the other side of his climax, easing her ministrations but not letting go until he was loose and spent under her hands and mouth.  Then she took a breath and kissed the flat of his belly, rubbing soothing circles into the hollows of his hips.

The door suddenly opened behind them.  Natasha stood like lightning before the lights came on, guarding Steve’s naked waist, pushing him even more back into the wall and holding him there.  Of course, she was shirtless, so it wasn’t like they could hide what they were doing.  They were both stiff with panic, not moving, hardly even _breathing_ , listening as whoever had opened the door fumbled for the lights.  “Shouldn’t they come on automatically?”  That was Darcy, Jane’s intern.  Natasha recognized the voice anywhere.

“Don’t know,” came an unfamiliar but somewhat drunken male voice.  It had to be her date.  The intern’s intern.  It was something of a joke.  And it was somewhat funny they were maybe looking for a place to do exactly what she and Steve were doing.  _This one’s taken._

“JARVIS?”  She sounded about as intoxicated.  “Can you turn the lights on or something?”

Natasha closed her eyes and bit her lower lip.  Any movement now would betray them.  She could feel Steve’s heart pounding against her hands, a heavy flutter where her fingers were slotted between his ribs.  _This was a bad idea.  A really bad idea._   They’d really rolled the dice, and now…  “I apologize, Miss Lewis, but the lights in this room are malfunctioning.  Can I direct you elsewhere?”

The door shut, and the sound of the party grew muffled again.  Natasha couldn’t believe it.  _JARVIS bailed us out.  JARVIS bailed us out!_   “Holy hell,” Steve whispered.  He went as limp as a wet noodle against the wall.  He was practically shaking, whining a laugh.  “Merry Christmas…”

She moved fast.  Her hands were at his waist, putting him back into his pants (which earned her a gasping, grunting groan), closing the front of his jeans and pulling his shirt back down.  “You go make some excuses,” she said after taking his face in her hands.

“Huh?” he stammered.  Clearly his brain was still not quite functioning after the close call and _everything_ else.

“Make some excuses,” she purred into his cheek, standing on her tip toes to reach.  “And then come to our bedroom.  I’ll be there waiting.”

He still didn’t get it.  “What?”

“I know you’re good for another round,” she whispered into his ear.  That was the thing, too.  Thanks to the serum, he was.  Instantly.  She could feel it, in fact, as she finished getting his pants back into place.  “So go tell everyone we’re leaving and then _come to bed._   You can unwrap the rest of your present.”

He was gone _very_ quickly then.  He was maybe too disheveled, lips kiss swollen and bitten, hair askew, shirt not quite tucked in, but she didn’t stop him.  Instead she found the ugly sweater she’d been wearing and donned it again.  She spent a couple minutes smoothing her clothes, pocketing the remains of her bra, and straightening her hair.  “Thanks, JARVIS,” she called softly.

“You are most welcome, Miss Romanoff,” the AI quietly responded.  “Merry Christmas.”

She laughed lightly.  “Merry Christmas to you, too.”

“Thank you.”

She slipped out and snuck away.

_“It’s that time of year when the world falls in love.  Every song you hear seems to say, ‘Merry Christmas!  May your New Year dreams come true…’”_

_They’re coming true tonight._

* * *

There was no music in their bedroom.  For the first time all day, it was completely silent.  Even still, there was a song in her head.  _“If I could only have you near, to breathe a sigh or two.  I would be happy just to hold the hands I love upon this winter’s night with you.”_

She felt calm.  Contented.  It was dark as she slipped out of that hideous sweater and her boots and leggings and into the silk nightgown she’d purchased for their trip.  It was sheer, black, hugging her form perfectly.  She darted into the bathroom to brush her hair and her teeth, spritzing just a touch of the perfume she knew he liked on her neck and wrists.  Then she waited.

Not long after, the door opened and softly closed.  She stood in their bedroom just as she promised.  His footsteps were light but purposeful, and she could feel every one like the beat of her heart.  Into the bedroom he came, and they came together.

He spent a moment looking at her, heat in his eyes and love on his lips.  Then he scooped her into his arms, his mouth finding hers in the dark, and carried her to their bed.  They were silent as he laid her there.  Her hands went to that awful sweater, and she smiled as she ripped it over his head and threw it away.  His undershirt followed.  She was more careful about removing the bandages from where he’d been shot, but once they were gone, she saw the wound was already hardly anything more than a faint line and tender, new flesh.  Carefully she kissed it, gently sweeping her lips and fingers around the small spot.  He sighed as she scooted back to the pillows, laying there.  Never once did she look away from him.  She parted her legs, inviting, welcoming, letting him come between, and he kissed his way up her ankle, calf, and thigh.  There was nothing rushed now.  Nothing frantic or uncertain.  His lips were light, gentle, and his fingers were even more so like he was tracing soft lines on his sketch pad.  Trying so hard to create something perfect.  To worship it, do it justice, replicate beauty and adore it.  She closed her eyes and sighed through parted lips, letting herself drift on the sensations.  He sucked marks on her inner thighs, little reminders of his presence, of his _purpose_ , and then he went higher, pressing kisses through the silk over her core.  She gasped, grabbing at his hair and twisting, trying to move his mouth where she needed it.  He went willingly, fingers sweetly caressing, pressing inside, searching and finding and making her world wash in white.

Upward he went once she was writhing, his palms spreading the silk over her stomach where it was rucked and rippled.  When he touched her breasts again, he was gentle, taking his time to memorize the feel of them as though he could ever forget.  His thumbs teased the peaks of her nipples before he sealed his mouth over one, laving it with wet, heated attention through her negligee.  Soft whimpers and whines filled the silence, freely escaping her throat as she once more arched her back to silently beg for more.  His fingers went back between her legs as he rained kisses all along her collarbones, shifting silk to get at the skin as he wanted it.  She raked her nails down his sides before reaching for his belt once again.  It wasn’t done quite right, and it was so hard to focus now with him lavishing his attention upon her.  She got it open, though, pushing his jeans back down before grabbing him through his boxers.

He groaned into her neck, shuddering anew with a bit of oversensitivity, so she loosened her grip and stroked him more slowly and gently.  He leaned up on his knees, abandoning his own efforts, and she pushed herself upward to work his boxers down off his hips.  She watched him a moment, the muscles of his chest rippling with pleasure, his mouth open in a soundless ‘O’, his head tipped back to bare the tendons and cords of his neck.  She traced a line up his chest, between his pecs, kissing one of his nipples now as her nails danced into the hollow of his throat.  He lowered his face again, sucking at her fingers as they tickled through his beard.  She could feel how badly he wanted her.  He was vibrating with need, whimpering again, little, heady, desperate sounds from deep within his chest.  Every part of him was strung tight, his body merely an instrument she was playing.  He was beautiful.  “Steve,” she whispered, touching him harder, pulling him carefully by his manhood closer to her.  She was hungry.  Possessive.  “Steve…”

He opened his eyes, nipping lightly at her thumb as she caressed his cheek, kissing her wrist.  There was nothing in his face but love.  Reverence.  _Desire._   His gaze was swimming in it, eyes aglow with it in the shadow.  It was almost too much, this pull between them.  Too strong and too powerful.  She was desperate, too, and quivering with it.  “Aren’t you going to unwrap your present?” she asked just to be coy and flirt because that was easier than accepting _how much she needed him._

He came forward, catching her mouth in a searing kiss.  “Already know what’s inside,” he lightly joked into her lips.  He kissed her again before trailing his mouth quickly down her throat to her chest.  He kissed between her breasts, over the silk of the nightgown.  Over her heart.  “Already know I don’t deserve it.”

She couldn’t think anymore.  She pushed him back, rolling onto her stomach and spreading her legs to him.  Cold air struck her back as he smoothed the negligee up, and she shuddered with that until the heat of his mouth warmed her dimpled skin.  He took her hips, one in either hand, and slid inside her.

This, too, was something they rarely did.  It was hard for her, hard in a way to be this vulnerable, to have him be in complete control.  It was engrained into her that sex was about power, and though she was learning more and more that that wasn’t true, conditioning was hard to simply undo.  Yet now she felt close to him, close in a way she _never_ had before.  His hips snapped forward, steady, deep enough to send ecstasy arcing through her with every thrust.  He set a steady pace, not driving, not quite enough but so very good.  When she was shuddering in frustration, he hooked an arm around her and pulled her up.  She cried out at the change in the angle.  It was incredible, what he was making her feel, how he felt inside her.  His chest was so broad and strong behind her, comforting, a promise that she could trust him completely.  His mouth attached to the nape of her neck, warm and damp as he panted, as he kissed and sucked.  She flung her arms back, grabbing his hair and turning his face so she could find his mouth.  Every time he rocked into her, he punched the air from her lungs, the breath bursting into his lips as a gasp or a moan.  His hand slid across the silk, cupping one of her breasts, and when he squeezed, it was almost too much.  She couldn’t hang on, not in this storm of heat and fire and pleasure.  It was building and building, so strong that she cried out unabashedly.

And when his other hand went down between her legs again, she let go.

Vaguely she felt her body fall gently back into the cool sheets.  Vaguely she felt him, warm and heavy against her back, finding his own release.  Vaguely she felt him breathing in shaking whimpers, his heart thundering where her back was pressed tight to his sternum, his body shuddering atop hers.  And vaguely, just before she slipped into slumber, she heard him tell her he loved her.

It was perfect.  Peaceful.  The world was a soft, sweet white.

When she awoke, that soft melody still hazily danced in her head.  _“The fire is dying.  My lamp is growing dim.  The shades of night are lifting.  The morning light steals across my windowpane where webs of snow are drifting…”_ It was so early it was barely morning at all, the world doused in gray.  She could practically feel the snow falling outside, though it was too dark too see.  All she knew was she was warm and she felt so good.

But he wasn’t there.

The spot next to her wasn’t very cold, though, so he hadn’t been gone long.  Natasha blinked sleep from her eyes.  “Steve?” she called softly.  She saw his shadow slipping back toward the bed.  Gathering the sheets around herself, she propped herself on her elbow with great effort.  He’d put on his boxers, and he was…  “What are you…”

He came over.  His eyes were deep with nervousness.  “I…”  He dropped down to one knee beside their bed.  “I did buy you a gift.”

“I knew it,” she whispered, though her heart was pounding and she could hardly breathe.

“I wanted to do this yesterday.  I really did.  I was trying to.  But the moment never seemed right, being Christmas and everything, and I wasn’t sure you’d want this…”  He sighed, holding her gaze, gathering himself.  “But then you gave me that watch and I _knew_.  I knew.”  Then he sighed slowly, smiling softly.  He raised a small, black box.  “Natasha, will you marry me?”

She stared at the ring.  _She stared at the ring._   It was perfect, a platinum band with a diamond solitaire, and when even the dim morning caught it, it glowed.  Brighter than all the lights and all the stars, it sat there in the bed of velvet, waiting for her.  And maybe she hadn’t been sure.  Maybe she hadn’t known exactly what it was to love someone like this.  Maybe everything that had happened yesterday had been some sort of message.  It had been, because she was sure now.  It wasn’t just the season.  It wasn’t just being someone’s partner or lover or girlfriend.  It was giving.  It was _him_.

And he was offering her everything.

So there was no doubt.  Not now.  Not ever again.  How could there be?

“Yes.”

_“Although it’s been said many times, many ways…  
_ _Merry Christmas to you.”_

**THE END**

**Author's Note:**

>  **Song list:**  
>  "Happy Holidays" - Andy Williams  
>  "Christmas Time Is Here" - Vince Guaraldi  
>  "Silver Bells" - Bing Crosby  
>  "The Most Wonderful Time of the Year" - Andy Williams  
>  "Santa Claus Is Coming to Town" - Bruce Springstein  
>  "White Christmas" - Bing Crosby  
>  "Sleigh Ride" - Johnny Mathis  
>  "Let It Snow" - Dean Martin  
>  "Baby, It's Cold Outside" - Margaret Whiting and Johnny Mercer  
>  "All I Want for Christmas Is You" - Mariah Carey  
>  "Happy Christmas" - John Lennon and Yoko Ono  
>  "Please Come Home for Christmas" - Aaron Neville  
>  "Winter Wonderland" - Dean Martin  
>  "Jingle Bell Rock" - Bobby Helms  
>  "The Christmas Song" - Nat King Cole  
>  "Merry Christmas, Darling" - Karen Carpenter  
>  "Time in a Bottle" - Jim Croce  
>  "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" - Judy Garland  
>  "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree" - Brenda Lee  
>  "Christmas Waltz" - Karen Carpenter  
>  "Song for a Winter's Night" - Sarah McLachlan
> 
> Many thanks to [lbs29](http://lbs29.tumblr.com) for this spectacular artwork!


End file.
